The wind whispered across the mountaintop, high above the academy grounds. It howled like a song, sometimes sharp, sometimes gentle. The sky was stained in hues of dusk—burnt orange bleeding into violet—and Aevion stood alone on the cliff's edge, the wind pushing against his silver hair like a tide trying to reach the unreachable.
For a week, he had not spoken to anyone.
He did not sleep.
He did not rest.
He did not forget.
Mira's laughter still echoed in his mind like a soft chime just out of reach. Liora's final expression before vanishing into the folds of dimensional rift played on loop—hope mixed with terror. The image did not fade with time. If anything, it sharpened.
But grief was a weak master. And Aevion was done kneeling.
He raised his leg and struck the air in front of him. The movement was clean, controlled, and fast. The wind parted around his heel as if fearing to resist. His foot slammed back to the ground, and he exhaled sharply.
He struck again.
And again.
And again.
Each motion was precise. He wasn't simply swinging limbs. He was mastering something physical, grounding his broken soul in each snap of bone and twist of breath.
Taekwondo.
A martial art forged in discipline. It wasn't just power—it was timing, form, and patience. It was a language spoken through movement. For someone who once ruled without limits, this was a return to the basics. But it felt right.
His body burned. Sweat traced along the side of his jaw, dripping onto the mountain stone. He did not stop.
Kick. Step. Guard. Reverse. Break. Flow.
He practiced alone for hours under the silent stars. The sun died, the moon took its throne, and still he moved. At one point, his foot cracked the stone beneath him. At another, a misty afterimage of his body flickered mid-kick and vanished. He was moving faster than his form could comprehend.
Then—something deeper awoke.
A presence stirred within his Nexis.
Like an infinite mirror reflecting itself forever, the energy burst forth from his chest and surrounded him.
"Create."
He spoke the word like an instinct, not a command. A second Aevion appeared beside him—exactly the same. Same power. Same aura. Same eyes.
The clone blinked once, then resumed practicing beside him. Perfect sync. Not a copy. Not a shadow. A real him.
He tried again.
Another clone. Then another. Then ten.
They spread across the mountaintop like a school of dancers practicing their strikes and stances, each one flawless in discipline and control.
Aevion closed his eyes and whispered to the Nexis:
> "Give me more. No matter how impossible the ability. Let me create it. Let me master it. I will not lose anyone else."
A rush of light burst from within him—a spinning array of violet and white. It laced his skin with faint inscriptions, flowing like glowing tattoos down his arms.
He raised one hand.
"Ability Creation: Reality-Piercing Gaze."
His eyes shimmered with impossible light. For a brief second, the world looked different—its secrets laid bare. Every thread of energy, every tear in the dimension, every movement of causality trembled under his gaze.
He blinked. The ability sealed into his memory. He had it now. It was his.
The night deepened.
The clones vanished with a thought. His body ached—but it was the ache of growth, not pain. For the first time in weeks, Aevion sat down on the cold rock and stared up at the stars.
He didn't cry.
He didn't speak.
But the storm inside him calmed just enough to feel the wind again.
The mountain slept.
And the boy who had once lost everything—who now stood on the edge of becoming something more—prepared himself.